Fireworks: A WeasleyPatil Romance
by ReWritten-string-of-stories
Summary: {third in the Magically Arranged Marriage series}The world as Ronald Weasley and Padma Patil know it has come to an end, thanks to the Ministry's Marriage Law. With vague memories of Yule Ball, meddling families, clashing personalities & a single secret that could destroy them before they begin, how will they manage?
1. Filled With Much More

Welcome! I hope you all are ready for some 'Fireworks'. Here's the first chapter of the third installment of my Magically Arranged Marriage series. The POV and [...] between Ron and Padma. So without further ado...

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><p><strong>{i always felt it before, that the world was filled with much more than-}<strong>

**.sara bareilles.**

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><p>I love my life.<p>

I love my job, my clothes, my parents, my friends and my twin. I love being able to have a career that I know I was meant for. I love the breath of inspiration I get when I walk down London streets, both the Muggle and the magical - the spotting of something new and different, or old and classic, that will be fodder for this month's hottest fashions or latest must-haves. And God knows I love shoes - _love them!_ - and I can't possible live without the thrill that I get when I rub my hands over a pair of heels that I just _had_ to have as soon as they came out. I came out of a ridiculously long and horrifying War with my family intact, my best mates alive, and am not all the worse for wear for it. I ignore the rare nights that I wake up in a cold sweat, stuck in a blasted fog of remembrance, but those are far and few between. I can appreciate the shortness of life even more now, can take what I want without feeling too bad, and I damn well charge forward and take life by the snout-

Or was it trout? Or maybe horns?

I can never remember exactly how Muggles put it.

Anyway, my name is Padma Patil and I like to live life fabulously.

Today, I rolled out of my fabulous bed and went down my fabulous stairs to eat a fabulous breakfast made by Mum (alright, I'll abandon use of that word though heaven knows it _perfectly _describes me!), then headed out the door to get to the work.

Ah-

I forgot to tell you where I work and what I do. I am one of the creators and primary editors of magical England's newest arrival on the magazine scene, _Mode_.

After the War, Parvati told me about an American woman named Rebecca Winters. She's the grand-daughter of Amanda Roberts who created the first American version of 'Witch Weekly' forty years ago. Anyway, I approached her with the idea of a different kind of magazine that focused more clearly on the kind of witch that would exist _after _the War - one who was more mature, less frivolous, but still had an eye out for the better things life had to offer, and one that was willing to incorporate more Muggle sense of style. Mrs. Roberts had been looking to launch something similar to my ideas, and had a creative set of people on board with her, and as they say the rest is history!

I could lie and say that I knew all about what positions in a fashion corporation together but I would probably also then lie and say that I knew I was going to be made primary editor. And that's simply not true! Yes, I got to the top of this little magazine (which is currently becoming a fashion trend in itself!) but that was pure accident. _Mode _is what it is because of the pure originality and creativity of our executive board. We have seven men and women, excluding myself, who had a hand in its creation. Most live all over Europe, and are involved in similar projects in their countries, but were brought together by the illustrious Amanda Roberts.

Because the headquarters were to be stationed in London, and because I have a clever eye for fashion (_hello? _I mean I _was_ in Ravenclaw, for heaven's sake), I help head this headquarters with Amanda Roberts' grand-daughter Rebecca Winters. We report directly to our fellow board-members, we go out into the streets to look for new blood interested in working in the fast-track fashion, and we're looking to establish ourselves as a permanent fixture in this new age.

Can you tell I'm passionate?

I have always known that I was going to end up doing something in the fashion, ever since the first day I successfully dressed a dolly at the venerable age of five. Even at that point, I suspected that the bright purple dress clashed horrible with the apple red shoes on her feet - perhaps I even thought 'Oh God, what an awful color scheme!' - and that something really needed to be done about her pre-painted face. Now, at the venerable age of nineteen, I can tell you with certainly that purple and red are _never_ a good fashion statement, that it's much better to have a lighter hand with makeup than a heavy one, and that thought I might be the quieter twin I'm certainly not a quiet person.

Did I mention that I love my job?

In addition to being an editor, I also get the nifty gift of serving as a fashion stylist for the magazine a few times a year. A fashion stylist is responsible for bringing to life a photographer or director's vision for a fashion photo shoot, layout, commercial, print advertisement or music video. That means that when I do serve as an fs, I get the pleasure of scouting out locations, selecting and setting up the appropriate props, fashion, accessories and even models to fit the theme of the shoot. I don't think anyone could have designed a more perfect job for me, which makes me believe that there must be a God.

Another thing about me, I like belief. I like to believe in belief. But more than that, I have to believe in '_love'_. I might have come through the War relatively intact but...

_Lavender._

I have to believe in belief and I want to believe in hope and I love to believe in love because - let's face it - people need something to believe in. It's an eternal human condition, really. And I can't help but believe when I look around at the new reality of magical England. Look at what love did for Harry Potter - it saved him from at the first, and another love saved him at the last. The kind of love that crosses life and death, that breathes life _into _death - that's what I find most compelling.

Love.

Isn't that all there is at the end of the day? I firmly believe that that's what will see us - all of us - through in this new world we face after the War. I want it to learn its in and outs, I want a love that will make me feel more vividly than I've ever felt before in my life.

I want love.

So let me reintroduce myself-

-my name is Padma Patil and I am waiting for something - _anything_ - new to come along.

.

"Good morning, everyone!" I said cheerily as I breezed into the small lobby of the small but fashionably modern _Mode_ headquarters. The two receptionists waved and chorused back. "We have Mrs. Roberts flying in later this week, and the rest of that backed up paperwork to file for last month's prints. Get Christina in as soon as she gets back and let's work hard again today."

I breezed - yes, _breezed_ since I was so happy today that my feet probably weren't touching the floor - up to the second floor which was where my small snazzy office awaited me. I dropped the coffee cup on my the desk, glanced at the three thick parchment rolls awaiting my perusal, and glanced out the window with a smile. Becca would be here at any moment, all brass and balls and take-charge to set up the fourth bi-monthly meeting of the execs. It was hard to work out a schedule in which everyone got to be together in a single space at the same time, but all eight of us made it work.

Becca, despite a tendency to be late to anything less important than work, was inexplicably on time everyday. Actually, it was rather like clockwork. She would be here in three, two, one-

"Padma!" Tall, brash and blonde, and a whirlwind of what looked like ruffled feathers. I smiled as she trounced in, whipped off her cloak, and dropped her coffee on my desk. "Again! Again! The _same _man, again! I'm about to haul off and punch him!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"No, no, _he _should be 'begging my pardon'!" Becca fumed with a hand on her hip. "Every damned morning, this man - who has it out for me, I swear to God he does - cuts in front of me in the line. The coffee line. The one line even more volatile than a _traffic_ line, for crying out loud. Honestly, and that ditzy little cashier girl-"

"Interestingly enough, I've never heard of him," I said mildly.

She glared.

"That's because I'm feeling pretty damned stressed today since it's D-day!" American slang was taking some used to - most days, I had to intimate what she meant from context. "Anyway, that little ditz at the register just hands him his coffee without telling him he needs to go to the back of the line. I swear he doesn't even _pay her. _He just smiles that damned smile and leaves and that fast little flirt lets him! I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands, next time."

And what capable hands they were.

Rebecca Winters was the only child of the only child of Amanda Roberts and at age twenty-one she was making no secret of the fact that she wanted to succeed her grandmother's empire, and surpass the work done before her. She was brainy but, for some reason, most people were fooled into thinking of her as a delicate flower that they tried to treat her like a helpless female... it was actually quite amusing to go out with her and watch men translate her looks into 'damsel in distress'.

I didn't understand it since she _looked _like the quintessential 'erratic' intellectual - she wore giant rimmed glasses looked harried half the time, was always on about some obscure topic when she wasn't focused on fashion, and was attached by the hand to caffeine. So why people persisted in looking at her features and thinking 'delicate'? No idea. Until they got a steaming heap of the 'kickass' (as she calls it) that is Becca. Once I'd gotten over my initial surprise, we'd become fast friends, then she'd met Parvati and _they'd_ become fast friends, so now we were all just a neat little crew of really good mates. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a great female friend besides my twin.

She slipped a hand into her handbag and produced five thin rolls of parchment.

"Quick note, Jean-Pierre & Shinji won't be able to make this meeting."

I was concerned.

"Trouble at home?"

"Jean-Pierre's mother is ill, and Shinji's taking time off to take care of his daughter."

I began a mental check-list, making sure to send international post to the two of them, before turning back to Becca's bad mood. Something big was going down with the Ministry, information that Becca had come by after flirting with some nameless desk-worker by accident. What this might mean for the interests of our consumers in days to come we couldn't be sure.

"I take it last night didn't go particularly well."

"I don't know what they're hiding, or why, but all I could get out of the Ministry rep is something about nuptials."

"Nuptials?"

She nodded and sat with her arms and ankles crossed.

"Nuptials. Which makes absolutely no sense to me because what under God's great sky could your country be doing that would have anything to do with marriage?" She managed to look irritated and intrigued, and pushed her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. "Mm I like the idea of a conspiracy though, and this time I say we get Parvati to do her thing."

"Spy for us?"

"Think of it as taking one for the team and spying for _all _of us."

I laughed.

"For the team? What, of mankind?"

"If my hunches are right," murmured Becca, "it'll be for womankind, as well. Because it takes two to get married, and your Ministry is up to something sneaky."

Yesterday, I'd thought that desk worker what's-his-name was spouting nonsense but Becca was sort of clairvoyant (sort of like Parvati, really) when it came to sensing truth in haystack. Today, I was inclined to look at the info from afar.

"So what _do_ we know so far?" I asked out-loud. "We know that the Ministry is doing something that apparently is centered on 'nuptials' which we shall take to mean 'marriage' in the most general sense, that covers at least two departments. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement and-"

"Magical Maintenance Department," interrupted Rebecca. I stopped and stared. She shook her head. "The lift attendant was from the department of magical maintenance."

Now, _that_ was interesting.

"But that department serves as the custodian branch of the Ministry, which means we have two very different departments working together."

"Custodian like the magical containment and clean-up?"

She was on the same brainwave but I was the first to voice it.

"Which means that either an incredible amount of magical acts that leave messes to be cleaned are being performed or I'm a flobberworm. And even if that's the case, we still need to be worried about how this will affect the industry. Do you know anything about marriage magic?"

Becca shook her head. I began speaking.

"Marriage is an institution and a tradition as old as time. Wizarding England made an allowance for divorce around eleven years ago that hasn't really caught on because of the stigma associated with divorce," I said slowly. "We've never adopted a way to marry one's magic to your spouse though Daddy has definitely mentioned that the Department of Mysteries might have tried something like that in the very early 1800s but it ended in failure. Which means-"

Now my blonde-haired green-eyed friend's interest was piqued.

"Jesus Christ, but why now? Because of the aftermath of the War?" It was the only thing that made sense, but Becca wasn't finished. "That's incredible, though it doesn't have immediate impact on anyone who is not actually planning to get married."

"I think we need to find out two things - whether the Department of Mysteries _or_ the Department of International Cooperation are involved, and what the nature of the clean-up is."

We looked at each other.

"Parvati?"

I nodded.

"You or me?"

"Your phone's already out, Becca," I laughed. "In any case, while you do those, I'll look over the parchment on the desk. I think it's safe to say that we might want to look into doing something for the fashion-forward witch who has just become engaged."

Becca laughed.

"I think it's a safer bet to wait on that, actually, because if your Ministry's magic is something to be implemented nation-wide then...we'd have to devote an entire issue to the topic."

She had me there.

"Make the call, I'll read."

This was the last bit of work that I would have to have the secretaries work on - making sure that the itemized list of payments due to the magical photograph printing press company was forwarded and honored, and that the boutiques were all sent the customary 'work with us again' notes. Now that _Mode _was beginning to really take flight, we were earning enough to hire more staff. The four secretaries we already employed had very helpfully suggested others that might fit the role so that now we were up to a core full-time staff of seven.

Two old secretaries had been re-installed as personal assistants - one for Becca, and one for me. They would help us create the reports for the executive board, and serve as sounding boards for ideas.

"Are you done? And have you seen Anna or Heidi?"

"Yes and yes," Becca said distractedly, still fiddling with her handset, "since Anna is downstairs double-checking the itemized list copies, and Heidi is on her way here with breakfast for everyone."

"Merlin, I wish I knew what was going on," I muttered, "but until we know, there's still work to do."

When Heidi popped her head through the office doorway, I smiled widely and motioned her in.

"Thank you for the hard work. Will you help me with this? We still have lots to do."

**[...]**

Who am I?

In my short eighteen years of life, I've accumulated a _shite_ load of nicknames. I've been called everything from 'Weasel' and 'Weasley' to 'Oi!' and 'ginger' and 'brat'. I can count on both hands the last time I was called all of those or a combination of some in the last week, and I can tell you that Hermione makes up the most cleverly acidic names when I've gone and irritated her. I was born Ronald Bilius Weasley, last son and second-to-last of the Weasley clan, I guess. I'm an older brother and a younger brother and a best friend rolled into one. I'm a damned good - okay, hello, I'm bloody amazing! - wizarding chess player, a pretty good Keeper, an excellent flyer, an alright student, and a decent hand at working.

Maybe, I'm at a crossroads in my life where I don't have the faintest idea what I might want to do. Maybe that keeps me up a few nights a month, as I try and figure out where I see myself in ten years. Maybe that doesn't matter. I can appreciate the fact that I have time on my hands, and that I've got time to _have _time on my hands. I've seen a bunch of things in my life that are hard to believe, I suppose, and I've been very lucky to live through all of that and come out as jaded as I have. Which really means that I could have been much more of a cynic than I really am.

Geez, I'm only eighteen years old anyway. Who said I'm supposed to have everything figured out?

I could lie - or channel Hermione - and say that I've always wanted to do '_fill in the blank with something amazing and complicated here_' or that since I was young I only ever dreamed of being a '_fill in the blank with something equally as amazing but way less complicated here_'.

Nah.

I have dreams, sure, but I don't know if any of those will ever become reality. What I do know is that life is a gift that I'll never get tired of, and thanks to the end of the War, I have time to _make_ time to make my dreams reality.

.

"So," I said slowly, "what you're saying is that we have no choice?"

My father, Arthur Weasley, was usually the most patient of men. He was actually one of the most laid-back parents as far as parents went, though Luna's dad definitely had him by a mile. Still, Dad was calm and patient and all those things that helped him deal with bloody Fred and George as they were growing up, then me and Ginny while _we_ were growing up. Today, my Dad was not calm nor was he patient. He wasn't even particularly happy. What Dad was, was apologetic and angry. Percy didn't look any happier sitting next to him.

"We had no idea that a few other departments were working with the Department of Mysteries," said good ol' Perce. "And this can't get out, you all have to promise us, because it would cause a panic."

_Shite. _

It sure as hell would. I mean, the Department of Mysteries was involved in this? No one knew what the hell they were on about and Neville couldn't tell us since he'd been sworn to secrecy when he took up his job as an Unspeakable, but that could only mean that some serious stuff was involved here.

Fred was up and moving around the kitchen table, pacing like he was going to wear out the bare floor if he needed to. George was actually as silent as the grave on my one side, while Harry looked absolutely dumbfounded on the other. Ginny had gone completely white next to the door and Charlie had a hand on her shoulder.

"So," said George slowly, "there's nothing we can do?"

Dad shook his head slowly.

"Whose idea was this?"

"I doubt it was Kingsley's," George muttered. "But does it matter?"

"Merlin," said Ginny. "Nothing at all."

"Nothing," I echoed dumbly. Yeah, there was fucking nothing we could do. Not a damn thing - the Ministry and their _bright_ ideas to help us _heal_. This was going to be far more harm than good, someone mark my words. I could see Harry tense up besides me, could feel him looking at Ginny even though I wasn't looking. "And when is it supposed to go public?"

"Sunday."

That was two days notice before everyone else found out just what was in store.

"Bloody brilliant," snarled Fred, "amazing that we come through one War only to find ourselves in another situation _not of our own doing_. Can someone please tell us why they think this is a good idea?"

"I imagine it's a reaction to the War," Dad said unhappily, "though the details aren't too clear. They intend to simply owl all of England ages sixteen through twenty-nine, and then release the news to the papers and the airways a few minutes later. And-"

A clinking sound, followed by that signature annoying Ministry chime - Dad was being called in to the office.

"Don't tell your mother yet," he said hurriedly. He grabbed his cloak. "I'll tell her myself tonight, alright, you lot?"

We waved him half-heartedly out the door, then as one unit, turned back to the problem at hand. Today was Friday June 12th and it was barely past two thirty in the afternoon. Every single one of us had gotten an urgent owl from Dad and Percy, asking us to get home as soon as possible. If we'd known the emergency was going to concern our own lives, I'm pretty damned sure we'd have gotten here sooner. Charlie had been out of the country in Romania to begin with, and luck was on our side that he'd decided to drop in to see the family this weekend.

"Our main problem is you three," said Charlie steadily. He was looking between Harry

"I can't imagine the Ministry would break up the most romantic couple of the century," snorted George, "and-"

"But if this involves magic then how can they bend the rules just for one couple?" retorted Percy.

Percy was right, if this had anything to do with any kind of magic that bound people together. I opened my mouth to speak but was shut down before I could begin.

"You're awfully calm about this," sneered Fred, seeming to encompass the rest of the room. I had no idea what that prick was on about - the hell? it wasn't like he was the only one affected! - but Dad didn't seem like he was going to quiet this down. He was listening very closely instead.

"Would you like to rephrase that? Especially since I'm the only other person in this room with a significant other," yelled Percy, getting mildly red.

"Oi, everyone take a deep breath," interrupted Charlie. "No use in getting angry when there is nothing that can be done about it, and when anger doesn't help."

"Still," I mused, "if not even you or Dad know the nature of the magic, then we're bloody well screwed either way. And what's this about finding soulmates?"

Perce shrugged. George reached behind me and clapped Harry on the back.

"Cheer up, mate," he smiled, "I still don't think the Ministry will break up the two of you. And Gin makes the cut-off age so..."

"Agreed, besides who wants to piss of the Savior?"

Harry punched me in the arm then stood. I zoned out, especially since my brotherly senses were telling me that Harry and Gin were about to become especially lovey-dovey in the face of all this...not-at-all-awesome-ness.

_How the hell are we supposed to get ourselves out of this one this time? _ I thought to myself. It's not like it was an adventure that we could go on, and get off at the end of the day. I hadn't had the time to figure out anything besides falling out of love with Hermione during the War, and that was looking like a really good thing since I didn't have the complications Percy and Audrey or Gin and Harry might have. _But who wants to be thrown together with some stranger for life? Sure there's divorce but it doesn't sound like they'll be letting that go down too easily? And the Ministry sure likes to cover its own arse.._

Which basically meant that everyone this side of fifteen years old was fucked.

"-the rest? Dean's off at his grandparents', Nev's out of the country, Luna is hard to reach when she's at _The Quibbler_ and 'Mione didn't respond-"

The poor sods who were actually in a relationship with someone were also fucked.

"-can't let this get out so don't tell anyone who will leak-"

Did they expect us to live happily ever after, have lots of babies, and die happily at the good old age of 90?

"-call her over, while we call Dean and Nev when we get back to the apartment-"

And just how many of us were there? At any given time, Hogwarts had about a thousand kids but since they were crossing two generations the number must be closer to two thousand. That's a _fuckload_ of people who were getting tied.

"Well, you lot can tell 'Mione tomorrow, I suppose, right Ron?"

"Eh?"

Fred and George rolled their eyes while Charlie clapped me on the back.

"Yea, 'course we can," I said easily, "I was listening the entire time."

.

"What do you think?" I asked Harry later that evening.

He'd remained at the Burrow all day, then showed up at the house looking more than a little crazy and dragged me off to Copernicus Park. I knew he was worried. But I also knew that he would come out alright. I told him so before I threw another stone and watched it skim the lake.

He didn't respond. He just watched the skipping stone too.

"You're meant for each other." The weight of the other rock I hefted in my palm was comforting. "If there's anything I know, it's that."

He picked up a stone and palmed it before he held it up to the sky. I watched him look at the thing before he tossed it half-heartedly. I couldn't believe he was so torn up about this. There was no way those two weren't meant for each. I wasn't a believer in the 'one person for you' theory that lots of blokes seemed married to.

Maybe it's true but it's not true for everyone. I feel like you grow in stages and at each stage there's someone who can come along and just...fit you. They fit you. But once you change without meeting them, they probably don't fit anymore. Someone else fits better.

Harry had already met his fit. Gin and him had grown together through so much that I simply didn't think it was possible for some stranger to come along out of _nowhere _and fit better than she did.

"You know I make it a point to not agree with the twins in most of what they say, right?" I nudged him in the shoulder and it got a faint smile out of him. "But there's no one else who understands the way you're mind works, and the things you've been through with Voldemort quite the way my baby sister does. I honestly have to agree with George. That letter is going to arrive in two days with her name on it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

**[...]**

Saturday morning dawned grey and cold and beautiful. Parv had been pretty late in coming home last night, so I hadn't had the chance to talk to her yet without our parents around, but if I could get her now...

"Parvati Patil," I sang.

I think some twins have a special bond with each other if they get close. We were inseparable as little kids, and even though we were sorted into different Houses, we luckily never lost that. Sometimes I swear to you that I can feel what she's feeling a room away, and she can do the same. We're as close as peas in cup - a saucer? that didn't sound quite right! - and she would forgive me for accosting her so early in the morning by jumping on her bed.

"Parvati Patil," I trilled again. "Wake up, wake up, and tell me what you found out!"

"Urgh!" She poked her head above the comforter and glared balefully at me. "The hell, Paddie?"

Okay, maybs she wouldn't forgive me so easily.

"I'm going into the office today and I want to know what you wormed out of someone yesterday."

She groaned again then threw the comforter open so I could wiggle into bed with her, just as I usually did. When I was comfortable (which really meant when I was practically on top of her since it was cold and Parv gives out body heat like it's free money) she sighed and flipped the comforter over our heads.

"They're involved."

"Who?"

"Department of Mysteries." This was not good. "The other one, International Cooperation, they're not as deep in this as D.E.M. but they have at least minimal contact."

"Who else?"

Parv shook her head, and I frowned. She didn't know then but she continued.

"What's worse is this - a new Committee was formed about four months ago, within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement which-"

"-means that it might be exactly what we thought it was-"

"-a marriage law," she finished.

"A marriage law," I repeated dumbly. "Oh, sweet heavens. Magic nature?"

"Couldn't find out anything about that," Parv muttered, "though heaven knows I tried, even when I didn't want to kiss him."

"You had to _kiss_ him?"

She sent me a very sly look.

"Honestly, how else did you expect me to get all that information out of him?"

"Flirt," I teased.

"For a cause," she shot back. "Besides, you and Becca needed me and I was already in the building to chat someone else up for my news article. And I know."

"Know what?" I grinned at her but she didn't smile back.

"I saw you yesterday."

"Saw me?"

Parvati was watching me carefully and watching me suspiciously.

"With him."

I immediately descended into panic mode. What had she seen? What had she _seen_? It was a struggle to maintain the smile on my face while my breath had suddenly sped up and my heartbeat was pumping faster than before. _I've been careful, I've been cautious so, _I thought frantically and yanked a calm look unto my face.

"What do you mean?"

This time when she sighed, it sounded like it came straight from her heart.

"Paddie, I usually know you better than you know yourself, you know. Why are you still-"

"I'm not," I insisted, "I'm not at all whatever you think - I'm just not."

"Look at how angry you are right now, though!"

"Because you keep pursuing this and I keep having to tell my _own sister_ that I'm not doing anything I'm not supposed to be doing!" I retorted. "If I needed help or anything, don't you think I would ask for it?"

Parv looked uncharacteristically worried.

"Would you?"

"Of course I would," I murmured, "of course."

She took both of my hands in mine and tried to smile.

"As soon as-"

"-anything happens, I know," I sighed. "And if I ever-"

"-need me, see you already know the rest." Parvati squeezed hard. "I'll see you and Becca at lunch. Go-

"-to work." I sighed again. "I'm going."

I went.

.

Sunday afternoon found us at Florean Fortescue's.

"If I were Rita Skeeter," Parvati twirled her spoon, "I'd leak this to the press."

"You know," said Rebecca around another bite of raspberry sherbet, "everyone loves to hate that woman but her viciousness is actually the funniest thing this side of the Atlantic. It's just so friggin' delicious!"

"Delicious?" I asked dubiously.

"Dee-licious," she repeated for emphasis. "As in utterly enjoyable. I could watch that woman spout vile things all the day and lay back with popcorn and enjoy the show. Actually, almost as delicious as this mulberry ice-cream is right about now."

"Dee-sgusting" Parv interrupted. "Almost as disgusting as the letters we hold in our hands."

"An ice-cream date over marriage proposals?" Oh, I just loved it when Becca became sarcastic. "Did I mention that I'm glad I'm not one of you, Brits? The Federal Government of Magic would meet far too much opposition to put some sort of crazy forced nuptial law into effect. That's why we brag about our governmental system, huh?"

"Please can the 'America is the best' talk, thanks," I interrupted in supreme irritation. "There's only so much Yankee ego we can take in one go. Especially since our lives are ending today?"

She was instantly contrite.

"I am sorry, you know I am. I think joking's just my way of trying to help."

The letters had come in ominous black envelopes with silver embossing. Mum and Daddy had lost their shit as soon as we explained what was happening, and had demanded we open them together as a family. That had been the absolute _last _thing that Parv or I had wanted to do, so we'd talked them into staying at the house and finding out what they could while we dragged Becca out to eat.

Unpredictably enough, my father had written a letter.

"Do you really think we are going to let any of our daughters into this farce?" was the first thing the Howler my father had sent off to the Ministry was instructed to say. Perhaps followed by a string of curse words in both Punjab and English. Followed by...more...curse words in Punjab and English. My mother had been writing her own separate but equally as dramatic Howler, which meant we probably wouldn't be able to get anything out of them for the next hour or so.

Right now, I'm certain they were trying to see if they could call in any and all favors to get us out of whatever the hell was happening. I doubted that it would be successful.

"We know," said Parv with a frown. "We know. God, this is going to get ugly. You know Mum and Dad wanted to fix up who we get married with, right? And now?"

Parv through her hands up in disgust. "Madness! Everything will be chaos!"

Speaking of madness-

-we hadn't expected the letters to come in so early. In fact, I'd been breezing through the weekend thinking we had at least another month before any real legal action would be taken. Too bad the Ministry had adopted this way of _actually_ getting things done on time. What we held in our hands were the rest of our lives.

I don't think there's a way to elegantly curse, though I do wish I could find a way to do so. Luckily enough, Parvati and her potty mouth were doing a grand job of it at present.

"We should open this."

"We should open it later," I replied.

"No, we should _really _open this."

"No, you should both let me open this since the two of you clearly want to put this shit off as much as possible," said Becca. She offered a non-sticky hand. My twin willingly put hers in it. "Take a deep breath."

Instinctively, Parvati and I found each others' hands.

_Be kind Fates, please..._

Becca skimmed the letter with a carefully blank face.

"Good news or bad news first? Actually, I'm not sure if either of this is good or bad news."

"Oh, sweet God-"

"Bad news - he's not anyone you know personally." Parv looked dumbfounded. Becca managed a small smirk. I just held onto my sister's hand for dear life. "Hard to believe with all your connections, isn't it. Good news? You're going to be a very wealthy woman."

"What?"

"Chirag Whitewater."

The name meant absolutely _nothing_ to me.

"Whitewater?" Parv repeated dumbly. "Chirag...who?"

Clearly, the name also meant nothing to her too. Becca was brimming over with glee as she shoved the letter back into Parvati's limp hands.

"Parvati Patil, you are going to be an _extremely_ wealthy woman - not that you aren't well off at the moment - but Chirag Whitewater...well-" She took a deep breath and started again. "I met him a few years ago when I was much younger. Do you know the new hotel they're building over in Muggle London, near Whitehall, near the Ministry?"

We nodded dumbly.

"Do you remember what it's called?"

"Whitewater Re-" started Parv before her eyes went incredibly wide, "Whitewater Resorts. First to be built in England, although there's loads of them over in the United States. You are kidding."

"But," I interrupted, "it's being built in Muggle London."

"He's the only son of a Muggle family that is incredibly wealthy in the States. His father is American, his mother British Indian - I hear he was born here and schooled at Hogwarts but this was probably a little before your time."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-six."

_Wow,_ I thought.

Not only because I could fairly see Parv's eyes glazing over at the mention of money (which, let's be honest, we are not all gold-diggers but love doesn't buy diamond rings or flashy necklaces) but because he was older. I don't think we'd ever considered the possibility of having someone you'd never even _met_ before become your betrothed. Although I could completely see an older man balancing out Parv's 'savoir-fair' attitude.

_Wow, good Lord._

So the chances of me not knowing my potential mate was actually a lot higher than I'd originally thought.

"What is he like?"

Becca thought about that one for a little while.

"He's reserved...quiet. And I seem to remember that he is very very kind."

_Interesting. Almost the exact opposite of her._

Not that my twin wasn't kind...most of the time.

Which left only my letter to deal with. I opened it with shaking hands, a trembling heart. Would he be kind? Would he be quiet? Or reserved? Would my future be full of long walks along beaten paths behind a lovely town-house? Children and a puppy? Would he be the kind of man who valued reputation or would he not care for propriety? Maybe he would be outgoing and outlandish, loud and brash and a little bit of devil-may-care man? Or perhaps he would be strong, tall and silent - the kind of man that could weather storms and not be shaken by them. Maybe he would love me, maybe I would love him. Maybe it would be love at first sight. Maybe, just maybe, I could trust him with my dreams.

I badly wanted to dream, to return to dreaming the kinds of dreams I'd dreamt before the War.

Before him.

**Dear Miss Padma Patil,**

**As of today, the Ministry of Magic has instated a new marriage law that will apply to witches and wizards of ages sixteen through twenty-nine.**

**Though this may appear to be a sudden and drastic measure, be reassured that the Ministry has taken the necessary steps and precautions to ensure that each and every witch and wizard is matched with someone suitable compatible. We are matching wizards and witches with their soul mates, the ones that have the greatest potential of providing mutual happiness.**

**It should be noted that these matches are not random. For security reasons, the specifics of the extensive choosing process will not be disclosed. Be reassured that your match is the best choice for you.**

**The Ministry requires immediate cooperation from the populace, as it will be in your best interest to contact your betrothed as soon as possible. The magic that binds the witch and wizard together is already in effect.**

**Further documentation and paperwork will be owled to you on the morrow. Please sign the attached blank page and return it. We wish you good luck with your marriage.**

**Miss Padma Patil, you're betrothed is Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley.**

**Have a magical day!**

**_Melda Babcock  
>Department of Mysteries Office<br>Ministry of Magic_**

For about 3 and a half seconds, my brain ceased functioning.

"What?" asked Parv frantically. "What? Who is it?"

"It's Ronald," I said blankly. "Ron Weasley."


	2. Breathe

_Second chapter of the third installment of my Magically Arranged Marriage series. The markers (.) within POV and **[...] **between Ron and Padma. These two are so much fun to write - so much! Enjoy._

* * *

><p><strong>{there's nothing to do but believe, just believe, just breathe-}<strong>

**.télépopmusik.**

* * *

><p>I have to be completely honest here. My first thought was 'what?'. That was followed up with a heart-felt prayer of 'Thank God, not Bullstrode!' before my mind settled on 'okay'. While Padma Patil and I had never been close by any stretch of the imagination, she was from Ravenclaw and was supposed to be clever by extension. As a Patil, she was also by proxy one of the prettiest girls I'd ever seen at Hogwarts. So, yes, my last thought of the night of the day that we received our letters was -<p>

_Thank Merlin she's good-looking._

Which I certainly was going to keep to myself, at least around the girls. Otherwise the newly awakened 'Mione would accuse me of 'small-minded sexism', Gin would call me a 'prick', and who knew what Luna's reaction would be. She might very well tell me I'm an ass or nod and agree. I had no idea what Padma Patil had been up to since the end of the War. All of us had scattered like the four winds once the fighting was over so that we could return to families and homes and rebuild or recoup. I knew she was probably living or working around London if she was on her own. If she lived with her parents then she was out in the countryside like my family.

I decided I needed to write her a note.

"Open up, I need parchment," I said, banging on Dean's bathroom.

"First drawer, desk, study!" he yelled. "You can't find it yourself? 'Cause I'm going to be in here for awhile!"

I wrinkled my nose.

"Way too much info, mate," I yelled back, "I'm taking it and going!"

I could hear him snort all the way down the hall. What was I supposed to say to this girl? I had no idea since Harry was already in love with Ginny, Dean and Luna were mates to begin with, Neville had gone off on his own to see Cho Chang at work and none of my brothers were visiting. Besides, who wanted to ask the twins if they would just rib me to death? Percy had thankfully been given Penelope as a betrothed which cut down on any potential nonsense from that corner. But that left me with no ideas.

"Alright, alright, how about something simple like-" I paused in talking to myself, "damn. Hello sounds so-"

It was a habit I'd picked up from 'Mione and never quite dropped.

I stared at the quill. Then I stared at the parchment. Then I stared at the quill again.

Then...

I shrugged.

**Hullo,**  
><strong>We're supposed to be getting married, thanks to the Ministry's Marriage Law. Let's meet up at Honeydukes around 4o'clock, Wednesday, yeah?<strong>  
><strong>Ronald Weasley<strong>

I proudly rolled it up - it was polite and concise and even friendly - and managed to catch Pigwidgeon who was flitting around the bathroom, of all places, then trundled him up and sent him off with instructions to find Padma Patil. I'd done all I'd set out to do today, already.

(.)

"Yes, but if you look at it this way, Dai Llewellyn is famous _because_ he was such a hard player. He wasn't just a leader but he could man all the positions fairly-well. It's bloody rare to find anyone else like that, you know."

"George!" squawked Mum.

George looked suitably ashamed for all of two seconds before he turned back to our Quidditch discussion. Breakfast three times a week at the Burrow with the entire family - or whoever was in town - was well underway this bright Tuesday morning. Thank Merlin I'd managed to get to the table a little earlier than usual, friggin' twins were scarfing down those scones like they'd never _seen_ one before. Percy had been more than a little pissed until Mum had motioned him over to show him that she'd kept three aside for him. Honestly, how was that not favoritism? Now, everyone on this side of the table was engaged in a rather pointed discussion of the best Quidditch players of all time.

"Wasn't he eaten by a chimaera?" asked Luna thoughtfully. "They're rather rampant in Greece, you know."

"Thank you, Luna!" I said. "Honestly, the bloke came to a bad end long long ago. Look at Evana Lynchman-"

"How does this even relate to the argument?" interrupted Harry.

I shrugged.

It didn't have to relate to hush everyone up.

"I don't think he meant it to." Luna stood, probably bored and heading out to sit in the grass and commune with nature. No, really, she did that sometimes in the Burrow's backyard. "I'll be outside with the Danglypuffs."

No one batted an eye.

"See you later, then."

"Continuing on, all I'm saying is that if you're smart enough to put together a brand new _formation_ for the offense then you bloo-" I cleared my throat when I noticed Mum's gimlet eye, "that is to say, you'd better be on the 'best' list."

"Ron, isn't that Pigwidgeon at the window?"

Since Ginny stood to unlatch it, I didn't bother looking up. I'd wondered where the hell he'd gone and then wondered why Padma was apparently so far away. Or maybe he was just so small that he'd gotten sidetracked by evading bigger birds? He'd never come home hurt before and by the way he was twittering his idiotic little head off, I was sure he was just fine-

"Oh shit," someone murmured.

When Mum didn't actually correct him, I should have known somethings was up. There was the scuffling of chairs, a flurry of feet, and then Harry spoke faintly.

"Uh, mate? You might want to look up?"

I looked up to see everyone looking at Pigwidgeon who was fluttering above me with a red envelope in his-

_Oh, shit._

Red envelope. Response. Howler.

"Who did you piss off?"

Red envelope. Howler?

Sounded an awful lot Gin asking but I was already scrambling backwards and away from the letter which had risen majestically and was unfolding itself.

Merlin's underpants, a Howler. Who? It couldn't be Padma. I mean, it was a note. A perfectly good note! Polite and concise and even friendly! But she was the only one I'd written and the only one Pig could have possibly returned with an answer from. My mind was all over the place as I ended up leaning as far back from the thing as possible. What in all of England could I have done to deserve a Howler?

"RONALD. WEASLEY."

This was really happening. This was _really_ happening.

It was a woman's voice and she sounded young and she sounded pissed, and damn me if the twins weren't looking thoroughly shocked over there. The scary thing was she sounded very very controlled. Pigwidgeon shrieked and fled the room.

Controlled and pissed were not good.

They were never good when a chit was involved.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM, RONALD? YOU MUST NOT, SINCE YOU _DARED SEND ME THAT ABOMINABLE EXCUSE FOR _A NOTE."

Holy.

Shite.

"IN CASE YOU DON'T HAVE A CLUE AS TO WHOM YOU HAVE BEEN JOINED WITH, LET ME _RE-INTRODUCE_ YOU. PADMA PATIL, RAVENCLAW."

The silences in the letter were very effective. I fell back in my chair but was tangled by the bench before I could make a clean get away.

"It was a perfectly good note!" I pleaded to no one in particular. "It was!"

"IT WAS _NOT A NOTE, YOU ASININE LITTLE PRICK!_"

My jaw hit the floor (so did my head, with the power of that last note). Could the Howler possibly have understood me?

"I UNDERSTAND THAT GRYFFINDORS ARE RARELY GIVEN TO THINKING WITH THEIR BRAINS, WITH THE EXCEPTION OF HERMIONE GRANGER, BUT I HAD NO IDEA YOU LACKED EVEN A **MODICUM OF SENSE. **SOMEONE WITH A BRAIN MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT TWICE BEFORE SENDING ME SOMETHING THAT WAS CLEARLY CHAFF IN THE WIND. DID YOU EVEN _THINK _OF WHAT YOU WERE WRITING _BEFORE_ YOU SENT IT? OR DID YOU SIMPLY PUT QUILL TO PARCHMENT AND LET YOUR HAND MOVE AS IT WANTED?**"**

Now, that was going above and beyond the call of duty. Was this really the girl I'd danced with at Yule Ball? Because she had been quiet. She had been dryly amusing. She had not been, at any point, way obviously impolite. She couldn't have become this coldly furious voice! And what the hell with the Gryffindor sticks? If it were at all possible, I might have interrupted the Howler at this point to try and tell it that I was innocent. I would have certainly removed my hands from my ears and told it - her - that I was innocent!

"NEWS OF THIS MARRIAGE LAW IS ENOUGH TO AGE A BODY IN A DAY, BUT TO RECEIVE THAT NONSENSE FROM YOU WHICH WAS WHAT? AN ENTIRE TWO SENTENCES? TWO SENTENCES, RONALD WEASLEY! **TWO!**"

The plates began to dance on the table, like a terrible wind was blowing through the kitchen. When one fell, I'm not going to deny I jumped.

"YOU COULDN'T EVEN DO ME THE COURTESY OF WRITING ME A FULL LETTER! NOT EVEN A POLITE 'DEAR PADMA PATIL, I HOPE YOU'VE BEEN WELL!' NO, INSTEAD I GET TWO SENTENCES - WHICH I EVEN DOUBT YOU TOOK MORE THAN A MINUTE TO THINK THROUGH - AND A 'YEAH'.

The dishes and the silverware rattled on the table. Her voice entered an entirely different sound range. I scuttled back as far from the envelope as I could and nearly plowed over George in my haste. He looked completely dumbfounded.

"HONESTLY, DID YOU JUST _SCRIBBLE _SOMETHING _DOWN_ AND _DECIDE_ THAT THAT WAS ENOUGH? I HAD AN ENTIRE LETTER WRITTEN TO YOU! WITH **MORE THAN TWO SENTENCES** BUT OBVIOUSLY I WASTED MY TIME. NOW THAT'S GOING TO BURN IN MY FIREPLACE ALONG WITH YOUR...YOUR...NOTE!"

I'm sure my eyes were bulging at this point as the sheer volume of the thing rattled the dining table, and all the dishes on it.

"AND I AM _NOT MEETING YOU **ANYWHERE**_, MUCH LESS HONEYDUKES!"

No one said a word.

Not one.

I stared at the ashes of the envelope on the table.

"I thought it was a good note," I said weakly into the silence.

Everyone looked absolutely dumbfounded.

"That's Padma Patil?" asked Fred in awe. "I didn't know she was half banshee."

I might have laughed if I could have. My Dad came over, slapped me on the back, looking faintly surprised.

"What did you send her, son?"

Well, I'd _thought_ that I'd sent her a note but clearly she didn't agree with me.

"Maybe you should ask Mum or Gin for help writing your next note, mate." For once, George looked completely serious. "Not willing to lose my hearing at the next mass breakfast, not even for you."

I'm sorry - did no one see I was speechless?

"Two sentences, Ron? Really?" Gin shook her head with a scathing look and headed up the stairs. "Honestly, boys..."

Charlie whistled sympathetically and followed Gin on out.

"You're going to need to bring a flower shop when you go to meet."

This from Percy, who couldn't be interesting if he tried. Merlin's balls.

...

...

It'd been a good note, hadn't it?

**[...]**

"I almost feel bad for the poor little baby."

"Little?" I snorted. "There's about two hundred centimeters of him."

"Not so little," Becca amended with a grin. "But I'm sure he's feeling quite small now. Really, Padma? A Howler?"

Yes.

It was, I was quite certain, the only adequate response to the lint that had gone up in flames yesterday morning. I cannot begin to tell you exactly how irate I was about it. The funny thing was that I'd at first thought it was absolutely adorable that this tiny energetic little owl had managed to find me at magazine headquarters. It looked like it'd suffered some sort of trouble on the way here, which was odd, but I'd made sure he was fed and cleaned and even had my assistant run him over to the Owlery to make sure he wasn't hurt. The seal had read 'Ronald Weasley' in print (a bit sloppy, mind you) and even if my heart had sped up, I'd been determined to read at home.

So imagine my surprise when I returned home with my new owlish friend in tow, trounced up the stairs past my parents, got to my bedroom and unrolled the Note.

Yes, the Note. With a capital 'N' to really bring home the spectacle of the thing.

All that excitement, all my wonderful imaginary scenes acted out mentally of opening a thoughtful and well-written little introduction, all my _hope_ -

Ah, yes, it died quite a painful death.

**Hullo,**  
><strong>We're supposed to be getting married, thanks to the Ministry's Marriage Law. Let's meet up at Honeydukes around 4o'clock, Wednesday, yah?<strong>  
><strong>Ronald Weasley<strong>

Anger is a funny thing, such a funny _funny _thing. At first, my inner romantic couldn't believe it. She sincerely wanted to imbue every word with nuances and overtones that simply didn't exist in it. This must have been the draft. Or perhaps he got mixed up and sent his first take on the note before the finalized one! This rude little piece of fluff couldn't actually be the first words that Ronald Weasley might wish to say to me on the eve of this little affair. It was a mistake.

A mistake.

The problem was that my flair for drama, while not as immediate as Parv's, runs a bit deeper. It was a really really slow burn to anger. I reread it and reread it and I honestly started seeing more I _thought_ about it, the angrier I _got_. The angrier I _got_, the more vindictive I _became. _The more vindictive I _became_, the more I wished to _express_ it. And once I wished to _express _it -

Well.

And thus, my Howler.

"So if you won't be seeing him this afternoon, then how will you meet him?"

I would rather wound myself than see him.

"I won't." Becca made a face as she took the premature lay-out plans from me. "And we have work to do."

The Marriage Law had thrown the magazine market into a panic. Not only were staff members of competing companies in a complete uproar over what this meant for the field as a general, but since they were now suddenly part of their own market...Talk about chaos. We'd had to call an emergency meeting this morning with our international executive board to explain the situation over here. Full creative rights were ours anyway, but now we'd had to scratch our plans for print and run helter skelter into the unknown. Who knew there was such a dearth of proper wedding services in magical London?

Thank God for upcoming designers like the pearl we'd found in Guinevere Fairchild (half-French, not surprisingly) who had adopted Muggle wedding dressing fashions to make insanely daring unique creations. Or the elegant and understated designs of Jillian McClelland who came by way of Ireland and was going to become a favorite among the simple and refined. And to think, they said we were the only magazine they'd talked to!

The Galleons that I were seeing in our future were _numerous_. Brides would be flocking to buy!

"Yes, but we have more than enough time to dissect your current love life." If only Becca would let me dream of gold without end. No, she simply had to press on. "And Ronald Bilius Weasley, best mate to the Savior, is definitely a time-worthy topic."

I wished she wouldn't remind me.

Parvati had been so impressed with the Howler that I'd become the topic of her hurriedly written repartee for _Witch Weekly_, entitled 'Wrong Foot Forward - What Not To Say Before Meeting Him'. I couldn't decide whether it was a shot at that abominable note or my beautiful Howler, and then I wondered if his sister or mother or even Hermione Granger read it so that they could rub his nose in it.

I'd stopped wondering if it was a shot and smouldered in satisfaction.

Someone had better rub his nose in it.

"I take it you've also been turning away all mail?"

"For fear of another note, yes."

Becca looked amused.

"Because two Howlers in as many days wouldn't be classy?"

I glared. She smiled innocently and finally resumed work on the layout.

I sighed. She continued to peruse the parchment.

Damned American.

(.)

"Sit." When my father spoke like that, there was absolutely no argument to be uttered that might have him let me go. "Has he contacted you?"

It was too much to hope for that he might be speaking of some other 'he' who might have to contact me. Coming home from work today had been like a bucket of ice water in hell. The relief was fleeting because the heat was relentless. The heat? My parents. They had been trying to get me to talk about this match for the last two days and Merlin knew they were not to be put off today. My father was still reeling. He'd hoped to at least orchestrate a match for one of us but to have both of us snatched from him from the government? Daddy dearest was shocked. Mummy was nowhere to be seen.

"Yes," I said slowly. "Yes, Daddy, he has. Where is Mummy?"

The face he made was somewhere between a grimace and a frown.

"At the Mulays' home. Never mind that - I've written to the Ministry, as you well know." _Oh heavens, help us. _"They informed me that the marriage bonds were necessary and permanent. Ronald Weasley, then, is all you will have to work with."

That certainly wasn't the nicest way to put it. Was I an awful person for smiling?

"Bring him here tomorrow evening after work."

...

Alright, so the smile immediately left my face.

"Daddy, I-" I badly wanted to explain to him what had happened yesterday but that would serve no purpose other than to set Daddy against Ronald from the very start. And, of course, it would turn into a mass discussion that led back to what was wrong with the Ministry's Marriage Law and why we should consider returning to India and... Yes, no I wasn't going to tell my father. When he stared at me expectantly, waiting for a complete answer, I plastered a smile on my face and prepared an excuse. "-I actually am not sure he'll be free tomorrow."

"Ask him."

So much for an excuse?

"But-" I said weakly.

"He's not much of anything if he is too busy to meet with his betrothed's family," my father said sternly before indicating the living room with a tilt of his head. "Send him an owl immediately."

For a moment, I let myself revel in how destructively beautiful my Howler must have been when he received it. I thought about his facial expression - the surprise, the shock, the horror - as the mouth of the envelope had opened and uttered my words of denouncement. It was, by far, the most violent Howler I had ever written in my short life. Unfortunately, thanks to my demanding father, I was going to have swallow my words.

This day was going to hell in a blanket. Or was it 'handbasket'?

**[...]**

I have no idea why fate decided to smile down into my life this Thursday morning, but smile and smile widely He did. After that awful episode with the Howler at my parent's home, I had sort of dithered about trying to figure out what in the seven hells I was going to do about it. If I'd sent her another note, I would have had to go to one of the girls to edit it and Gin was so outraged on Padma Patil's behalf, that I had a feeling she would turn me away. Luna and Dean were too embroiled in trying to figure out their relationship for me to steal the blonde away, Hermione was almost equally as embroiled in her own ridiculous bullshit with that damned Malfoy that I certainly couldn't go to her for anything either.

Which left my Mum.

"Sometimes, I wonder if the same Being made men and women," she'd muttered yesterday during my brief visit. "Apologize, Ronnie, apologize. And ask your father."

Well, of course I wanted to apologize. I just didn't see why I'd be apologizing for the note! I'd read it and reread it and I couldn't see where she could have possibly gotten the idea that I didn't respect her or see her as anything. It was absolutely _baffling_, the mind of girls. I don't know if I could have done much worse by calling her a cow or a harpy or something equally as terrible! I'd been straightforward and polite and-

Holy shite, I really had no idea what to do about Padma Patil.

Her twin, I was at least familiar with. Lavender...

_Lavender._

I guess I hid it better than Dean. He still had no idea I'd gone to their graves too. It was just too weird to tell him...he missed her differently, I guess, than I did, and I didn't know how to tell him without making it feel as if I was intruding. I guessed I didn't have the right to her, not like he did.

Lavender and Parvati had been as close a pair as any, and they had been cut from the same cloth. Clearly, Padma had the same flare for drama that her sister had but I didn't think Parvati would have reacted so...

...severely.

And so, I rather had a feeling I was out of my league.

"I don't understand why that note got her so angry!"

Mum looked thoughtful for a minute, as she stirred whatever deliciousness she was cooking, before she looked square at me.

"Think of the Quidditch World Cup. Remember the articles in the paper that all of you mooned over for about two weeks after? All those long pieces praising the players and whatever else have you?"

I nodded, though I didn't really see where this was going.

"How long was the longest article?"

"Took up an entire page in the Prophet," I answered promptly. "Or there was that other one from _Brooms and Things_ that was about three rolls of parchment-"

"How short was the shortest article?"

"Oh," I scoffed, "at least a roll and a half of parchment, or half a newspaper page."

"But, Ronald," Mum said as she continued to stir, "why were they so long?"

I couldn't believe my own mother, she who gave birth to a brood of Quidditch fanatics, could possibly be asking me this question.

"Because it was a _major_ event of epic proportions, of course," I said indignantly, "how could any article possibly do the match any justice with anything less than ? All the saves, all the misses, the skillmanship of all the players. I mean, Merlin, just remembering how amazing Ireland plaid with an entire solid team of good players is bloody-"

She sent me a look that had me coughing to change tactics.

"-uh, really good, is what I meant, Mum. There's no way anyone could manage to write anything less than that."

Now, she was looking at me rather expectantly.

I looked back.

I was wondering what the point of that example had been but-

"Oh."

_Ohhhhh_.

Ah...alright, I could bloody well see why Padma had written that awful Howler. If I'd been expecting a nice long article about every blow-by-blow of the most amazing event I'd ever seen or heard of, then I suppose I'd have gone bonkers as well.

"But," I said in confusion, "what should I have written? I still don't get what she wanted - it's not like we're mates or anything."

Mum made an exasperated sound.

"Anything. Everything. You could have told her you were happy to be tied to someone as smart as her - because from what I hear from Gin and Luna, she's quite clever - and that you would be honored if she met up with you. I didn't raise any idiots but sometimes I have to wonder about you and your brothers," she muttered.

I tried not to wince at that last bit.

_Girls. Too damned complicated._

"Thanks, Mum," I sighed and stood. "For brunch, too."

"You're off?"

"Back to the appartment."

I gave her a rare hug and waved myself out. All the way back to the city, I thought about it. So no matter how sensible a girl might be, flattery was always the best answer? But I didn't _know_ she was the smartest girl in the world and I wouldn't _ever_ think of being honored to see anyone. Not that no one was good enough for me, or anything like that, but that wasn't something that I was ever likely to say. What would be the point of pretending to be smooth and debonair for someone who was going to see through that gloss faster than I could say 'lie'?

And now that she'd made it extra clear that she would be happy to never see hide nor hair of me how was I supposed to get back in her good graces?

_I need one of the girls, _I thought as I took the fancy lift up to our floor. They could find out what the chit was up to these days so that maybe I could ambush her on her way to whatever she did during the day. _We have to see each other._

We did. Damned Ministry was making it sound like they were keeping tabs on us. And we couldn't very well get married - I managed not to turn green at the thought - if we'd never seen each other.

I fumbled in my trouser pockets for the keys then managed to jiggle it into the slit correctly (Hermione had spent an age teaching me how to work the electronic lock) before I pushed open the door. This appartment was wicked. It was like a little lake in the middle of a desert. Or maybe that wasn't the correct, picture? From the first week, it had become home for us. Three months later, it was even more of home now.

I remember the day we'd signed the place - we didn't even have a formal discussion of becoming flatmates but it just seemed right- and it was hard at first for me to get used to all this new money settled on me. Signing the lease to this place with more money than I'd had in my pockets in one go was...I dunno...well, it made me really look at my place in the wall. Galleons and sickles to throw about are always good but I hadn't earned a bit of it. It wasn't charity, exactly, but it wasn't _earned_. I've been looking for a way to change that ever since.

Yeah, I was immature and stupid and petty when I was younger but I'd grown up a bit. I can admit it now. We'd never been poor and we'd always had a meal on the table but money had never been around in abundance. At all.

I'm still looking for a way to change that.

"Ron?"

I looked up, shuffling my shoes off at the door, to find Harry leaning agianst the wall and Dean with two hot cross buns in hand. One looked amused and the other looked intrigued. Tell me why I stopped taking off my shoes and just stared at them.

"What? What is it?"

"Two things," said Dean. "Nev'll be back tomorrow."

That was bloody good to hear! Last I'd heard from him was a Plunko's note from two days ago. I started to smile then looked at Harry who still looked to amused to be healthy.

"What's the other?"

He and Dean shared a look of...something.

"New mail."

"New mail?"

"In your room."

"Who?" I asked blankly.

"Padma."

I literally backed up against the door.

"Is it a Howler?"

They shook their heads. I sighed in relief. We didn't need any magic in the appartment and I probably couldn't have explained to the neighbors what the ruckus was about. I ran to my room, closely followed by the two of them. Pig looked like he knew he was going to be flying out of the appartment today and was more excited than he had been in the last twenty-four hours. I ripped open the thing, ready for Padma Patil to have torn me a new one, and took a deep breath before reading.

**Ronald,  
>On behalf of my parents, I would like to extend and invitation to the Patil house for dinner tomorrow afternoon. You are expected here promptly at half past five o'clock. The attached card has the location of the house printed on it. I hope I don't have tell you to make an effort to look acceptable.<br>Padma Patil**

"What does she want?"

I ignored Harry and glared daggers at the parchment and the none-too-nice tone she'd taken with me.

Honestly.

"I'm starting to get why she hated that other note," I muttered.

So, from the cauldron into the fire?


	3. Me For Now

_Welcome! I hope you all are ready for some 'Fireworks'. Here's the third chapter of the third installment of my Magically Arranged Marriage series. The POV change [...] between Ron and Padma and the two |.| . The plot thickens!_

* * *

><p><strong>{pay close attention, don't listen to me for now-}<strong>  
><strong>.frou frou.<strong>

* * *

><p>"Look at the bright side, honey," said Becca with a carelessly artsy shrug of her shoulders, "he is coming because he wants to make up for his note!"<p>

That was true.

The mathematical odds were in my favor - Ronald Bilius Weasley had agreed so quickly to dinner that there could be no other reason. He might not have fully understood the why and the how of my magnificent Howler but he was probably trying to make up for it. His adorably scatterbrained owl had sent a response whizzing back last night, with a simple yes. I'd told my father, he'd looked very pleased, and then taken myself off to bed. I tried to tamper down my excitement at seeing my father giving him the fourth degree...or was it perhaps the third degree? Is that what Muggles said? I'd laid in that bed and thought about my glee. Funny how I find myself able to sleep in the least stressful of situations and unable to do so in the most terrifying.

I had slipped beneath the sheets and stared at the ceiling. Such pretty shadows, such soft moonlight, such interesting shapes. When I blinked the world slid out of focus. The shape became as familiar to me as my old Arithmancy text. The softness took on an edge of definition and the edges were his hard bones and smooth skin. I blinked and the world was in focus again. Dark hair, five o'clock shadow, a strong jaw, even darker eyes. Heaviness in those eyes, heavier than the dark we dwelled in, heavier than the moonlight that striped skin, heavier than my heart. A mouth that curved into a smile that I could never admit that I'd seen, not to speak of having missed it. And a touch that I yearned for even as I spurned it, and lover's words that would be love on any other's lips -

_It doesn't matter because you're-_

"No!"

My own shout had jerked me upright. I woke up sweating, near tears, had to breathe. There was never any rest for me, never any respite from these dreams. I didn't want it. I didn't want any of it. Not the tears, not the reminders, not the dreams -_ not the dreams, not them _- and everything that came along with them. I didn't want it anymore.

_It's a dream_, I'd comforted myself last night,_ it's just a dream._

"What's just a dream?" Becca looked curious.

I smiled cheerfully.

"Just blathering to myself, I apologize."

She looked dubious.

"I swear that's what you were doing when you bumped your knees against the desk the other day." She sounded remarkably like my Mum. "If I hadn't been there, who knows what else you might have walked into."

I hoped that I managed to look sheepish but it's not a look that I've ever had to pull off with success or reason.

I snagged the rest of the layout from her and rechecked the single box that needed work. Our current articles had been put together by a staff of three writers, older women who had come into their own once the War was over and discovered a knack for writing. Our popular column 'Dear Dorothy' was actually written by Parv under the pseudonym Dorothy Goodman and gave advice to witches and wizards of all ages. She usually stuck to the dos and don'ts of popular fashion looks but every now and then, we'd receive letters asking for help on love life. Those she redirected to Witch Weekly and answered there. All we had left was to look at the photographs of the wedding gowns and their models.

With Mrs. Roberts flying into the country in less than a week, headquarters was being given a thorough clean up and brush down from head to toe.

"Also, is it me or do you lack your usual tumbler of caffeine today?"

"If I had to see that _ditz_ give that _bastard_ coffee ahead of me one more time-"

Ah, the violence of the decaffeinated. Becca was truly something else. That barrista had no idea what would be coming her way tomorrow if Mr. Handsome was once again put at the top of the coffee shop's best guest list. Thankfully the arrival of Heidi, my personal assistant, interrupted things.

"Mail's here!" the girl called. She came over with a sorted bundle of fan mail and questions for the magazine. "And a few personal ones as well."

I smiled.

She smiled back, sorting through them until she had two rather even piles. The last of the rolls was thin, a bare scrap of thinly rolled parchment that I barely took notice of. She placed it on top of the pile and withdrew. It was probably more bills for the leasing with the Muggle owner, and the photographer's lists. When she withdrew, I stretched a hand out to gather the pile to me and the thin one fell. I reached for it before I actually noticed the handwriting.

When I did, I froze.

"It's just a dream," I muttered feverishly. "It's just a dream. It's just a dream."

I tried to hold unto that thought as I split the seal and uncurled the parchment. It was a pity that I believed my words even less in the harsh light of day.

|.|

"Here," said Parv, reaching for the healing cream that the Healer had given me five days ago. "Let me put this on because you can't reach all of it. Good thing Becca was there."

I rolled my eyes as she ordered me to strip and turn around so she could get at the extended bruising on my back.

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

"Because you managed to walk into a wall and fall into a chair spectacularly for maybe the fourth time in your entire life?"

Becca had seen me come back from lunch only to slam face-first into something very solid, bounce back, and manage to clip a chair with my knee as I fell over it. I had been in so much pain that I hadn't been able to adequately explain away my actions. At least we got to St. Mungo's in under five minutes with our newly installed fireplaces. Side Apparation would have surely done me in.

I thought about it - it was probably a good thing.

"Fair enough."

"Didn't the Healer say this paste ought to bring down the swelling? Let's go back – this isn't going down fast enough."

I grimaced. The visit had been long and painful, especially when the diagnosis was that I'd fallen so hard that I'd caused a spider thin fracture in my shoulder. They'd mended the break but not before lots of swelling had taken place. A cold compress had brought it down some but I tended to sleep somewhat…unladylike…which means I sprawled…which really meant that my shoulder was repeatedly hurt throughout the night.

"Let me go with you tomorrow after work. Dinner tonight is only going to make it swell more," she joked.

"Not necessary. Besides I have a lot of work tomorrow to make the weekend deadline. As do you!"

"I finished the column responses!" she said, outraged.

"Merlin, Parv, could you get any louder?" I asked, clapping my hands to my ears. The clapping made me move my arms, which made me move my shoulders, which of course hurt like the dickens. "Ouch!"

"Sorry. But I finished them so I'm not coming in tomorrow."

When I looked over my shoulder, my twin sister was looking unusually shy. It was a look I hadn't seen since four weeks ago when she'd left the house to meet up with that Terry Boot. I narrowed my eyes and shrugged her away.

"Parvati Patil, do you have a date tomorrow?" She had the good grace to look ashamed. I slapped her shoulder. "And you didn't say a word?"

"I didn't have to?"

I gave her a look.

"I just thought it wasn't that big of a deal, you know?"

…

I'm sorry - did my sister soberly state that dating wasn't that big of a deal? I stared at her as if she'd just told me she was half mer-people and then cupped an ear and lean towards her.

"I'd just like you to repeat that again for all the boys and girls."

Now she glared.

"Honestly, Chirag and I are just meeting up at a Muggle tea shop. Nothing fancy, nothing to write home about."

Now, that was a dead giveaway. If she'd left it at 'nothing fancy' I might have believed her. But that last half? Coming from love's own column writer for Witch Weekly it was like...it was just clearly a lie. But why would she be lying about it? Another look at her face told me the truth.

"You're nervous."

She was surprised, then thoughtful.

"Maybe. But-"

"-why?" I asked slowly. "Because we're not dating around anyway. You know how we thought dating was for courting and courting was for marrying? The Ministry just cut out the search. So going on a date with him is-

"-automatically not dating."

We stared at each other. I took her hands in mine.

"It's automatically courting, Parv, and there's nothing to be scared of. You've been remarkably close-mouthed about his owls to you, and while I'm not sure I want to know what risque things you've been saying to him-" she smiled, as I'd meant her to, "-I do want to know what it is about him that's making you nervous. Tell me what he's like."

Parvati, never known to take a moment and think before rushing into things, was actually pausing before opening her mouth.

"It's just like she - rather, Becca - said. Even in his owls he's very polite and very nice."

"And you're_ scared_ of nice?" I asked curiously.

"I'm never scared."

"I know you aren't." I squeezed her hands and pulled her down. "But if you aren't scared, you're certainly not comfortable with something."

"It's courting."

"It is courting," I agreed.

"Which leads to marriage."

"So, it's the commitment?" I asked.

She looked thoughtful again, and not a little uncomfortable. I wasn't sure how to handle it.

"Perhaps."

"Well," I said bracingly, "burn that bridge when you get to it, sis. Don't worry about it until he's on his knees asking you to be his wife."

"But, Paddie, there's no _question_ that he's going to be on his knees. I just don't know."

I blinked.

"So it's commitment."

She nodded.

I suppose that in the heat of the moment, or rather the heat of writing a Howler, I'd really truly forgotten that the Marriage Law was in fact...a marriage law.

I can honestly say that I hadn't thought about the fact that there was no more choice. Part of the fun of being a single witch is being able to get dressed and go out and know the world is mine for the taking. But 'single witch' no longer applied to any open in the age bracket. There was now no such thing as a harmless kiss.

Someone was going to end up in boils, even if the kisser didn't.

I hadn't paid any heed to that since I still viewed Ron as a stranger who I wasn't even much of a fan of. But it looked like whatever Parv had seen, Parv had really liked.

"All I can say," I said slowly, "is that I don't know to make you not frightened by commitment. Especially, since Chirag is...it. He's it. Apparently, he's exactly what you need and you're exactly what he needs - if the Ministry is to be believed. So, if we are to go with what the government says...then even though trusting him is going to be hard-"

"-it is."

We shook our heads, simultaneously.

"I don't know."

"What don't you know, Parv?"

"Everything."

It was starting to make me think I didn't know either.

"If Ronald Weasley shows up looking uncouth-" I started, just to take her mind off of things.

"He won't," Parv said dismissively. "There's no way-"

"-he would dare it especially since-"

"-he's meeting our parents," she finished. "Or yours, rather."

I laughed over my shoulder. That was my twin for you, all braun. She rolled her eyes, not needing me to say it as was often the case.

"You know what I mean."

She handed me what was left of the cream from the clay bottle - she didn't know the meaning of the phrase 'use sparingly' - and pushed off the bed. I rolled my shoulders experimentally and savored the burn as the cream worked its power deep into my skin. When I looked up, Parvati's eyes swept clinically over the bed and then over me.

"Wear the black and printed gold one, the georgette saree."

"Doesn't that say 'Oi, I'm trying too hard'?"

"Not at all." She smiled slyly. "We want to establish you as the daughter of a wealthy family from day one."

I wrinkled my face doubtfully.

"Doesn't that sound quite...cruel to you?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with anyone's family but your own," Parv said in exasperation, "because it's not about him, it's about you. We want you too look pretty and elegant and unattainable. Forget the particular wording of what I said before!"

"Oh."

Alright, I could live with that.

"So the one with the printed gold spots, and the high-collared choli."

"Didn't you borrow the choli?"

"I wonder," she muttered to herself, "if you could get away with being barefoot the entire evening? Then maybe we could do bright red nail polish and-"

"The choli, Parv, the choli?"

She blinked, then waved a hand carelessly, and withdrew her wand from the back pocket of trousers.

"Accio choli," she said calmly. I rolled my eyes when something hit my bedroom door with a barely-there sound. She opened it, picked up the Indian blouse, and dangled it in front of my face. "See? Now I've found it."

"Really, Parv?"

She dropped it on the bed. I'd already changed my mind about the outfit but she didn't need to know that.

"Call me when you're done so I can finish your hair and make-up." I had a feeling she was going to make me look like I was going out to a party instead of downstairs to dinner with my parents and Weasley. "And yes, you're going to look classy when I'm done with you."

_Somehow_, I thought dryly, _that is never my fear with you_.

**[...]**

"Well, don't you look fancy." George managed to make the sentence sound like more of a complement and less of an insult than he usually would have. This probably meant that I actually was looking rather swell. "All you need is that cologne Hagrid likes to smother himself in and you'll be ready to face her family."

Seems I'd spoken too soon.

I glared.

George laughed and tossed a beignet to Fred, who was giving me a blank look.

"What?" I asked nervously. "What? Too much?"

"George's right. You don't look too bad. Nervous?"

Fred unhooked his legs from the couch and glanced over at Harry who was still sitting across from him.

"If they're not impressed, I don't know what they want," said my loyal best mate. "You look fine."

I hadn't had the faintest idea what to wear to a dinner created by your future...ahem...er...person's parents. Luna'd taken pity on me and asked Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson to drag me out of the apartment to a few clothing stores in the Muggle area of the city. I didn't exactly look formal but I didn't exactly scream casual, either.

I wasn't nervous.

"Of course I do," I bluffed. "They'll love me."

Dean, who was busy getting dinner together for tonight and putting things out for tomorrow's welcome back party for the currently busy Nev, turned around and looked at me.

"You look decent, mate!"

When something hissed on the stove somewhere in front of him, he forgot all about me and  
>my decency and returned his attentions to the food. I couldn't help but wish I was going to be here with my brothers and best mates eating instead.<p>

But I wasn't nervous, I swear.

"You should probably get going."

"I am."

I was, even if it looked like my feet were dragging. It was just that putting one foot in front of the other was taking forever today but honestly, I was already gone. On my way. Almost there!

"Ron?"

I glared at Dean.

"I'm out. Be back later."

When I hit the elevator buttons, I began to think about all the things that could possibly go wrong during this event. For one thing, I was sure that her parents would either like me or hate me. I'd asked around it seemed as if everyone knew that the Patils were the apples of their parents eyes. I was inclined to go with 'hate', since Merlin knew anyone but Harry wouldn't have been good enough for Gin and I'm not even her father! I'd already pissed off Padma in every way possible.

Fuck, this was going to be _awful_.

"Seriously wish I would've told her to proofread," I muttered when I exited our building.

Luna would have done it without complaining like Gin or clucking like Hermione, too. Why hadn't I thought of that first?

Honestly, I might have headed off all this danger if I had.

I walked and thought and worried. What could I do to bring her back on my side? No one wants a friend who's perpetually irritated by them, much less a girlfriend. And said girlfriend certainly didn't want said boyfriend. And Merlin knew I wasn't all that good with angry women - or maybe just the ones I knew, eh? - so I would just have to play it by ear.

I repeated the mantra to myself as I drew up to the warded black gates. I repeated the mantra as I whipped out the PILL and wrote to let her know I was here. I said and said it and-

-swallowed my tongue as Padma Patil opened the door.

Holy shit.

Holy...Merlin's Balls of Fire.

Seriously, I'd forgotten that she and her twin had seriously been two of the best-looking girls of our Year.

Good God, she came out of that house like a queen in this black and gold thing that shimmered in the little sun that was left after the rain and made her look even better than I remembered. she'd done something dramatic with her makeup, I could tell, since I couldn't help myself when she descended the stairs. She'd even stuck a matching golden flower in her hair to match the dangly earrings that swung when she moved. Her eyes were these deep liquid dark brown color that I could swear to you didn't exist anywhere else, and her skin was this lovely dark shade that reminded me of milk chocolate except with gold underneath it all.

I had seriously fucking lucked out in this Marriage Law thing.

I quickly came to my senses when I realized how blank her face was.

Shite. I was still in trouble.

"Uh, Padma-"

She glared at me in a way that made me certain I wasn't forgiven.

"It wasn't my idea to have you come here," she said witheringly, "and I still can't believe you thought that note would be acceptable in any form."

I thought it best to remain quiet.

"But since my parents have a right to know just what the Ministry has foisted on their children, you were summoned," she said on a sigh. "I don't have to tell you how important this is to them, do I?"

When she stared at me with those luminous eyes, I rather forgot what I was going to say.

"Well?"

"Uh-" I fumbled, "well, w-what I meant to say was that I'm sorry. I didn't think you would," I shrugged, "-mind so much. Sorry."

She stared at me as if she were deciding whether to hex me or not.

I held up my hands so she could figure out I wasn't trying to piss her off.  
>"Honestly. I'm sorry, Padma."<p>

She sighed again and turned on her heel.

"Come on."

I guess I was going to be hexed another day.

Her house was elegant, every inch of it spoke up of a family that was well-to-do. Everything was done in shades of gold and cream, and pictures of the twins and their parents decorated much of the hallways that I walked through. There was one interesting one of Padma and Parvati on two swings, hands held between them. They laughed and laughed in the pictures, then waved. It was sort of...happy.

It was a happy picture.

"Through here," Padma said up ahead of me. "Please don't do anything unacceptable."

Now, that was unacceptable. I wasn't a complete idjit, you know.

I tried my best to hold my tongue as I followed her into a grand-looking room with a high ceiling. More gold and creme with a twist of red this time, the thick rugs and the table runners and window curtains were rich and deep in colour. When Padma took my arm and squeezed tightly, I came back to myself.

Her parents were standing (had quite possibly been standing while I'd been woolgathering) and her father was staring quite stonily at me.

I cleared my throat.

"Ronald Weasley," I said as I extended my right hand to shake Mr. Patil's, "I'm grateful for the invitation and delighted to meet you."

Her father shook the extended hand in a way that managed to convey no feelings whatsoever. It was probably that frown on his face that made me want to beat a hasty retreat. He was an imposing man, even though I more than had him on height. Already silver at the temples, he looked stern and unyielding. How he'd managed to create two of the most dramatic females to grace the earth? I had no idea. Still, his handshake was as impersonal as he could make it short of spitting in my face.

At least, that's the impression he was giving me.

Mrs. Patil seemed only slightly warmer as I enveloped her hand in both of mine. She was like a softer, rounder version of her daughters. Where Padma was all angles and dramatic lines, her mother looked to be contours and valleys. She didn't smile, though, and that put my back up too.

Padma was steady and calm at my side and seemed to maneuver me a step backward without thinking about it.

"You have a great home, ma'am, sir."

At this, Mrs. Patil smiled and motioned forward with her hands. It was like the crack in a damn.

"Please sit, Ronald."

I breathed a mental sigh of relief. Padma seemed to do much the same next to me. I took the seat that allowed me the greatest vantage point in the living room, managing to be closer to Mrs. Patil - read, my only ally in the room.

"How has your family fared?" asked (barked) Mr. Patil. "You have several brothers and sisters, do you not?"

"Very well, sir," I answered and hoped to God that I didn't look as nervous as I felt. "My eldest brother, Bill, is visiting with his wife and her sister right now. The second eldest, Charlie-" I cleared my throat a bit, "-is under the Marriage Law's jurisdiction so he's temporarily on leave from Romania."

Mr. Patil looked interested.

"What does he do?"

"Dragons, sir," I answered proudly. "Caretaker and handler of dragons."

"My twin brothers own their own shop in Diagon Alley and things are returning to normal, so business is beginning to boom again."

"Whizarding Wheezes."

It was said as a statement, not a question. Which could mean several things and nothing at all since the Weasley name was...well, it wasn't really a household name but we were very closely tied to the events of the War and...some of that had gone public. I shook off the odd feeling that always came with realizing that I was semi-well-known and focused on the event at hand.

"Ginny's still in school, heading off her final Year at the end of summer."

Her father nodded again.

"And what do you do these days?"

The question I'd been dreading.

What did I do?

The truth was that I didn't do much of anything these days. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The rebuilding of one section of our home had taken up at least a month of my time and I generally helped Hermione with a little bit of her Healer studying (if she asked!). Most of the time, I helped out at the shop if I could and hung around my family most often than not. But he was asking me what I did with my life, not what I was doing. And the answer to that was a whole lot of not-so-much. Not that I felt bad about it, exactly, because all of England had managed to come through that godforsaken War and we were just getting our wits besides again. But when asked point-blank by the father of your future wife?

It was all I could do to control the urge to cringe.

"I'm around my family, most often," I said truthfully. "I help out at the shop, help out at home, do a little bit of everything while we get back on our feet."

The answer seemed to seriously please Padma's mum, whose smiled edged out of warm and right into friendly approval. Her father's expression didn't change. I didn't know what to make of that.

"Dinner is ready," Mrs. Patil said happily as she stood. "If you would, please."

I breathed another sigh of relief.

Thank Merlin for food.

|.|

Dinner was actually much better than I'd thought it would be. Padma had yet to say a word directly to me but she seemed to be able to turn the conversation away from anything that could possibly lead me into hot water. She was impossible for me to look away from, though. All that vibrancy and animation when she teased her father, or urged her mother into asking me about my family home. It was so...different...from what I'd expected.

Sure, I'd known Parvati was dramatic and vibrant too but she'd been in my House. I'd had classes with her and seen her in and outside of them. Why I'd expected Padma to be a carbon-copy of her, I didn't know. Don't get me wrong - Padma was the same but hers was like a subtle version of the flashiness her twin displayed. It was almost like...like...

_Like she was a mirror._

That was it.

Padma was a mirror to the situation. She wasn't just animated for her own sake. She was filling in all the awkward spaces in the room and moving things along like a grade E party coordinator. As soon as I realized it, I stopped paying attention to how pretty she was (and seriously, she was too damned pretty) and started focusing on how she managed to do it. Not just directing the conversation but smoothing over rough edges in my responses and her fathers, or complimenting her Mum on the quality of the cooking, and keeping me calm.

It was interesting.

She was interesting.

And all that sudden focus is probably why I realized that even though she moved a lot, she was careful to not do anything sudden with her arms and shoulders. An injury, maybe?

"Take care on your way home," Mrs. Patil said warmly, hands clasped together. Mr. Patil only nodded once, sharply, before his wife continued. "You may walk him out, Padma."

We walked in silence, which underlined how lively dinner had been with just the four of us. Nothing to my family dinner's but still pretty animated. I kept staring at her profile on my left, expecting another blow-out.

"I-"

"Well-"

I turned, surprised we'd started talking at the same time, but got over it really quickly.

"Ladies, first."

Her lips turned up in a faint smile.

"That didn't go badly, at all."

"Yeah, I'd thought it be a bloodbath."

She seemed to look slightly apologetic.

"I won't apologize for my anger but I will apologize for how I went about it."

So she was sorry, was she? I grinned.

"Don't act as if you weren't gleeful when you sent your owl off with it." She laughed, out loud. "See, I knew you'd been happy to imagine me when I got the Howler."

All at once, the ice was broken.

"I can't promise you're not going to want to send any more of those," I said seriously.

She shrugged, and then I noticed her wince.

"I know."

"Are you hurt?"

She looked at me oddly, and I gestured to her shoulders.

"Injured somewhere?"

She smiled and the smile was different than all her smiles during dinner. What was so different about this one, I couldn't get a handle on it. She then made a face and rolled her eyes.

"I turned into a walking disaster last week," she replied, "and managed to tumble over my chair quite spectacularly at the office in front of everyone."

"I wouldn't mark you as clumsy," I said curiously.

She snorted delicately.

"But then again," I finished, "I don't know you all that well."

She laughed again but sobered quickly. When she stopped walking, I turned to face her and those eyes punched me in the gut. Merlin, she was gorgeous.

"How do you feel about all this?" Padma asked softly. The way she asked it made it seem like she was asking me...more. "Everything, really? How do you really feel?"

I thought about it.

"I can't complain," I replied frankly. "I wasn't tied to anyone before the Law so it's adding more to my life than it's taking away, I guess. And although I bungled things up a bit, I want you to know that I am honored to have someone as smart as you as my..." Hm, what to call her, "...intended. I really do apologize for that note - I'm still getting to know the female mind, you know. If I'd know I was going to fuck it up-"

I immediately coughed.

"-I mean, blow it, I would never have sent anything at all. Better I blow it up in person, I suppose."

Padma stared at me in surprise.

"Just wanted to be as truthful as possible," I said with a shrug. "Wanted you to know."

Her lips curved upwards again, slowly but surely.

"Get home safely, Ronald."

I smiled back.

"I'll owl you tomorrow, alright?"

She nodded before turning on her heel and I watched her disappear into the house.

Well.

_Well._

That hadn't been a disaster, had it?


	4. Feels A Little Worse Than

_Here's the next chapter of the third installment of my Magically Arranged Marriage series. The POV and __**[...] **__between Ron and Padma. The plot thickens!_

* * *

><p><strong>{this is how it works, it feels a little worse than when-}<strong>

**.regina spektor.**

* * *

><p>"All set, everyone," I called out to the moving tableau of men and women before me. "Eight o'clock, that's a wrap. Photographers, product in the ante-room in ten minutes. Meeting's tomorrow morning at ten o'clock!"<p>

The scurrying began.

As the only magazine of our kind, one that combined the fashion of the new-age witch and the up-and-coming modern Muggle woman, we rarely had competitors in terms of content and ingenuity. We had managed to steal an entire corner of the market that _no one_ else had known had existed, but I didn't expect that to continue on. As we were geared towards fashion for younger witches, it was just a matter of time before another entrepreneurial witch or wizard realized that they might want to cater to the older set of women...or encroach on our corner.

As such, we needed to be ahead of the game...one step ahead of everyone.

It was time for me to serve as fashion stylist, once again, and this first meet-and-greet with bridal coutoure designers Marjorie Butters and Kenneth Fall was my gambit.

When Becca made her way over with a thoughtful look in her eye, I crossed my arms and asked the question I'd been dying to ask.

"Becca," I whispered without looking at her, "what did you see?"

"Nothing I needed to yell about," the redhead whispered back. She paused to thank a photographer who walked by. "The models and photographers behaved beautifully, although might be because Shinji is breathing down everyone's neck in the strongest way. Butters seemed pleased with the level of professionalism, Fall is a little harder to read."

Yes, well, Marjorie Butters was a twenty-going-on-twelve year old woman whose whimsical designs and cheerful personality made her easy to please. Add the fact that she was new to the fashion world and from a tiny farming town somewhere in Ohio, America - well, this was probably the biggest adventure of her life so far. Thank Merlin Becca was like a hawk-eyed appraiser when it came to searching for new talent in her homeland.

Kenneth Fall was an entirely different basket of eggs. The young man was a seasoned genius when it came to muted colors and refined elegance but he was a hard one to crack. All his ebullience and charm didn't clue you in to whether he liked you, one way _or_ the other. I was sure he'd bow politely to his worst enemy on his grouchiest day...

It didn't help that Britain suffered a dearth of models. Everyone who'd shown up today was the best of the best of what our nation had to offer. If they weren't satisfied...

_We're done for._

I pursed my lips and whispered back to Becca.

"Am I going to have to take a shot at him?"

Usually, Becca was the mood-maker for these things. I was usually a little too stressed with general event overseeing to ease our designers into feeling comfortable.

"God, yes."

I relished a challenge.

"Five o'clock," she said urgently. "Good luck."

The art of artifice is one we've down to the letter. With a naturalness that indicated no pre-thought, Becca turned away from slowly to make her way over to a group of male models who were getting dressed. In the same motion, I turned to meet Kenneth Fall.

He extended those elegant hands of his to take my own, then dropped a charming kiss on both knuckles. I smiled warmly, well aware of the fact that the future of our magazine was firmly in my hands.

"A long day, on the heels of your arrival," I said with an easy smile. "How are you faring so far?"

"Are you asking me whether I'm tired?"

"Do I presume too much?" I returned.

He smiled fully before we both faced the milling crowd before us.

"Exhausted, sweetheart," he said with a pained look. "But that's as it should be, anyway. Nothing like blood, sweat, and tears to make sure the right models are picked."

"Narrowing your numbers down or upping them?"

"Narrowing," he said thoughtfully. "I know England is only _just _beginning to open up an avenue for fashion so it's no surprise that all of your country's male and female models number less than twenty. Doubt anyone knows they can _be _a model, as an aspiration."

Oh, Merlin, this was the end. Perhaps, I should have listened to Shinji when he suggested we bring in models from other countries? Or maybe I hadn't looked hard enough for new modeling talent? Damn it-

"Still," he said with a thoughtful look in his eye, "some of the models were...interesting, if untutored."

I breathed an internal sigh of relief but kept a politely blank face.

"We're waiting on the professional headshots," I said noncommittally, "as this is a first for a majority of the models. Then the test-shots."

We turned in unison to greet Ms. Butters.

"Marjorie," said Kenneth, after kissing her cheek fondly, "what do you think?"

She grinned, bouncing in place.

"Decided on two - one male, one female. Waiting to see shots for all the others!"

_Thank God._

Kenneth looked amused.

"Who?"

"Dominique Hollington, Shaleine Woodley."

Now, Kenneth looked positively proprietary.

"I'm looking at Shaleine as well."

"And on that note," I interrupted with a smile, "let's adjourn to the ante-room. Drinks, anyone?"

Kenneth wasn't going anywhere, of that I was suddenly sure.

|.|

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the dark once I actually Apparated to the alley. It had been eight long weeks since I'd been here. The shop next door had obviously invested money in making sure its surroundings looked good and I could hardly blame them for it. I'd never seen the place this clean - the cobblestones shouldn't have had any right to be this clean when it wasn't in use all that often. For a moment, it felt different enough that I imagined I'd come here for a different purpose. A different person.

A different reason.

I blinked and everything shifted, then shifted back.

My heart raced ahead of me, clattering along while my mind seemed to be stuck on slow. It was almost like it was enough for my brain to process _where _I was, before it even contemplated the rest of the _whys _and the _hows_. Everything was a contradiction - the dark clean, the heavy heart, the lightness I felt. If this is what it felt to have a reckoning, then the onslaught of it was enough to dull the senses.

_Does everyone feel this way?__ Everyone like me?  
><em>

My brain attempted to analyze something else.

The flickering lamp posts at either end of the short alleyway lent little enough light, and I leaned back and closed my eyes. Since it was clean, it smelled different. Just air now - not mildew, not heaviness. Was it a sign that things had changed? I opened my eyes and saw that the blocks that I usually counted as I waited were a different color now in this light.

I trailed my fingers-

_-one, two, four, eight-_

_-_and the familiarity of the ritual washed over me and I was suddenly calm, even though I had no right to be calm.

No right to be calm.

"Padma?"

I whirled around before I could stop myself.

It was time for this to end.

**[...]  
><strong>

I looked at Luna.

"Are you sure that's not creepy?"

Luna shook her head.

"Really," I said dubiously. "Me just-" I waved my hand around, "-showing up to the place where she works without her having told me the address."

Luna's spacy eyes focused on my face before she gave me a reprimanding look.

"Unless you're showing up to insult her with _another_ short note or make a scene, I promise you that she will think it's a good thing."

I winced.

Was _no one_ going to let that go?

"But I dunno," I began doubtfully.

"It's only-" she glanced outside the window to the gray sky overhead, "ten o'clock tops. You have all day to figure out what you're going to do with her. It's an excellent plan, trust me."

Honestly, I was trying to trust her but given my track-record with Padma Patil, I wasn't sure if the ingenuity wasn't going to end up being my downfall.

"So," I said slowly, "I just...show up...and..."

"And talk to her, ask her on a date, ask her about her day, ask her about what she's interested in, ask her _anything_, Ron."

Easier said than done.

"I'll bring something," I said decisively. "A gift or present or something."

I didn't need Luna to look at me in a vaguely approving manner to know it was the right thing to do. But she did, anyway.

"And you're sure she's working today?"

Luna nodded.

"Padma works everyday, if I've heard correctly. She's as dedicated to _Mode _as I am to _The Quibbler_ and I'm rather certain she spends most of her free time there."

I nodded - good to know.

"Thanks, Lune," I said with a smile. "Tell Gin I'm gone when she comes down."

Whatever top secret girl-meeting they were having was going to get me banned from the Burrow sooner rather than later, anyway. Luna waved me off and into the fireplace I went, thinking as only a man faced with the importance of making a good _second_ impression on the witch who was apparently supposed to be his.

Merlin's Balls, I couldn't fuck this up!

As soon as I exited into our bachelor's apartment, I changed into my athletic clothes then made a beeline for Harry's suite and plunged through the door.

"Harry?"

He stuck his head out, hair even messier than normal. I sighed.

"What the bloody hell am I supposed to get Padma for our first date?"

Harry's eyebrows rose.

"That's a serious question, mate," I prodded.

"Where? When? How?"

"Well," I said sheepishly, "not really a first date but sort of a date of sorts? Or...well, I mean...a surprise one?"

Harry waved me into the room.

"What I mean to say is that Luna gave me Padma's work address and suggested I try to catch her sometime in the afternoon."

"Catch her to do...what?"

And that, my friends, was the difference between ladies and gents.

"She said I should maybe take her out to a nearby cafe, if she wasn't busy or anything, or maybe bring her something to eat."

Harry looked impressed.

"What are you going to do?"

I stared at him.

He stared back.

"No idea."

_Maybe, _I thought slowly, _I can get away with food. But she's so...trim...what does she like to eat?_

She had been too disgusted with me at the Yule Ball to sample anything, or at least not that I really remembered. I could be wrong though (Merlin knows I sometimes was) but I had no idea.

"Fleur and Bill back yet?"

"This afternoon," I answered absently.

"She'll bring food so take that with you," Harry said firmly.

I stared at him.

"Genius!"

I clapped him on the back and stood.

"Now that that's done with, I'm off for a run."

Harry laughed and waved me out. I have no idea when I'd started going for runs. It must have started immediately after the War, I think. Someone once asked me why I ran...I didn't have an answer for them. It's not necessarily that I was thinking about it. It just felt like it was something I...I dunno...something I had to do.

I guess when I really thought about it, the answer is actually quite depressing.

I'd been running for so long that I was used to it, in the non-literal sense. So once the War was over, I kept on...

...running.

"I'll be back in a bit."

If I wanted to be non-brooding about it, I'd actually grown to like running. I didn't do it to be healthy, really, I did it because I needed to feel like I was quick enough to get away if something ever happened again. For a lot of people, running felt mindless. For me, it was more like a necessary and therapeutic outlet.

There were a bunch of running paths (Muggle mostly, don't think wizards knew anything about running) and today was warm enough that the Thames wouldn't be too hard. All I needed was a good hour to get all this...anxiety...out...

All I needed was an hour.

|.|

Who knew there would be so many women here?

And while I was a bit of a ladies' man, I couldn't help looking at all the serious-looking females in here who ranged anywhere from vaguely happy to downright angry. I didn't know how to make this work, and I couldn't figure out if Padma was going to have changed her mind overnight, and Merlin knew I was already in overhead. I tugged on my jacket and tried not to think about eating-

"Ronald."

I would like to think I didn't whirl around fast enough to suffer whiplash.

"Padma."

Merlin, she was so gotdamned pretty. I literally had to take a moment to try and overcome the shock before I could continue. Her hair was in this rather complicated braiding pattern that looked nice and her eyes were soft.

"Thanks...for coming, I mean."

She smiled.

I blinked.

"Err," I sprang out of my seat, pulled out hers. "No idea what to get you so I didn't order anything."

"Cinammon."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked curiously.

"I like cinammon," she said simply. "All custards - in fact, custard is my favorite thing to eat when I feel upset or sad. And I like raisins. I don't like pies though."

"You don't like pies?" I asked, dumbfounded, as I towered over her. "How can you...there's nothing to dislike about pies!"

"I just don't think fruit and dairy should be together, as a rule."

I laughed and sat.

"You'll never know how much you're missing. Honestly...strawberry cheesecake?"

She made a face and shook her head.

"Apple and plum crumble and custard?"

This time, when she smiled, I was distracted once again by how pretty she is. I let myself sink into her dark brown eyes but figured that I could guess her answer well enough. And since I wasn't one for self-control or a filter-

"Padma, you have the prettiest smile I've ever seen."

She stopped, looked surprised, and then suppressed what looked like an honest-to-goodness shy smile.

"Thank you, Ronald." Her eyes slid away from mine for a minute but then she looked back slyly. "Flattery will get you back on good footing."

I didn't bother convincing her otherwise.

"What do you like to do?"

She shrugged, looked over the menu even as she smiled.

"My family, my friends, my job." She shrugged again. "Takes up all my time."

"Tell me 'bout your job," I said as I leaned back and stretched.

"Muggle idea," she said with a smile. "France was the first to take it and make it theirs, you know. We followed along and then so did the Yanks. Now, it's everywhere. Fashion just made sense. Parvati has always been a fashion nut. I think we got interested really early - then as soon as I met Rebecca-"

"Rebecca?"

"Winters. Rebecca Winters," she said. She reached into her purse and slid a photo out, careful to shield it from any Muggle eyes. Padma and Parvati with arms around a lively looking blonde.

"She's pretty," I said.

"She is," Padma agreed as she put the photograph away. "And ambitious. That's how we got the idea for it. She's four years older than us but I knew that the War would make a more...mature...set of individuals."

The unspoken name between us.

_Lavender._

"But," she pushed on, "she took the idea to her family, and her family decided to back two untried twins from Britain. And now, here I am."

"Did you think this was where you'd be after the War?"

She shook her head. I knew how that felt.

"Are you..." I searched for the right word but came up short, "...happy?"

Took her a minute to answer that one.

"I think so."

Hm.

She looked at me.

"Are you?"

"I am."

She looked at me for a bit then waived the Muggle waitress over.

|.|

"It went well, I guess," I said around a crumpet. "Asked questions, talked about her job, what have you."

"What did you talk about?" Gin asked impatiently. "I'm trying to gauge how likely she is to try for your life again."

I glared at her and pulled the plate of crumpets to me.

"It went fine," I repeated. "She's forgiven me, for now."

"Oh, has she now," Gin said dryly.

"Why are you _here_ anyway? Don't you have somewhere to be, Gin?"

"Sorry I _care_ about you and wanted to _see if _you had made it back alive," she sniffed. "Besides, I have a bit of a present for all of you."

I rolled my eyes and stood, just as Dean wandered into the kitchen.

"Are you two bickering?" We shook our heads at the same time. Dean looked highly suspicious for a few moments before he made his way over to the pantry. "Because I'm not making pancakes in a warzone."

"Pancakes? For dinner?" I asked. "Ginny, leave."

She made a disbelieving noise.

"You'd throw me over for pancakes?"

"No, Gin," I said patiently. "I'd throw you over for _Dean's_ dinner-time pancakes. Now, go find Harry so the man can cook in peace."

Rolling her eyes, she finally obliged.

"Heard you come back last night," Dean said over his shoulder. Although I'd never understand how the bloke became so damned good in the kitchen, I'd made up my mind to start to...well, that is to say...okay, damn it, I wanted to learn so that when he moved out I didn't die of hunger. Although there was a really decent place around the corner that we all liked to eat out at and-

"Ron?"

I looked up.

"You not going to share?"

What the hell was he talking about?

"Padma. Patil."

"Oh, yeah, was all right," I said shrugging. "It was a really good idea. Just talked some more."

"No more brilliant rows?" Dean tossed over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and stood to peer around him at what he was doing.

"When's Luna coming back?"

"Probably never," Dean said glumly. "Although we are supposed to go out somewhere...to get used to whatever this is."

Poor bloke. But he and Luna would make the best of it, no doubt about that. He was probably closer to her than he was to the rest of the guys, on some levels. And even though Gin swore she could see romance in the air (what, did romance have an aura?), I dunno if they had any option but to at least try to make it work.

As did the rest of us,

"Cheer up, mate," I said, clapping him on the back. "Just let her take it over. You two are best mates - you'll be fine."

"Best mates," he said with a grunt as he washed blueberries. "Which is the problem."

"But she won't be sending you a Howler," I said patiently, "because you actually _like _each other and respect each other."

"Padma doesn't respect you?"

I paused.

"No idea - that's neither here nor there, I guess," I said slowly. "But the point is you already know what she's like, how her mind works. It can't get worse than awkward because you know each other and are close."

Dean made a non-commital noise, dropped the blueberries in a bowl, reached for a skillet, then gave me an odd look.

"Ron, what the hell are you doing?"

I tried really hard to look like I didn't know what he was talking about.

"What is who doing?"

"Why are you always watching me in the kitchen now?" he asked. "Are you trying to learn how-"

I frowned and cut him off.

"Thought you might want some company but I guess you don't-"

"That's not it and you know it, mate," Dean said with a smile. "Have it your way then."

I did.

And when I woke up the next morning, a discreet looking roll of parchment full of handwritten recipes were left on my bathroom counter.


End file.
